Gourarie

WINNIE
GOURARIE
A LEGEND IN HER
OWN TIME
I
was born in a small chassidishe town called
Dokshitz, which was in the province of Minsk in
Belarus, White Russia. Both my parents were also
born in Dokshitz.
My father, Rabbi Yirmayahu Aloy, was born into
an extremely poor family. Apparently, his greatgrandfather
and two friends walked to the Tzemach
Tzedek from Dokshitz, which was a very long way,
because they didn’t have money for a horse and
wagon. My father used to tell us that he remembers
his upsherenish. Someone in shul gave him one little
piece of chocolate to celebrate the occasion. When my
father was ten years old, his mother died of hunger.
His father, however, lived to a ripe old age, but when
he was in his nineties he was forced by the Nazis to
dig his own grave in Dokshitz before being shot. We
heard from people who survived that his yahrtzeit was
on the very same date that my father passed away
many years later here in South Africa.
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1
2
1
3 4
5
6
1
7
(1) L-R: Shlomo, Michoel, Rochel Leah, Shaina. Michoel’s wife passed away and he never remarried. (2) L-R: Winnie’s mother-in-law Baila Gourarie, Winnie, and
Winnie’s mother Rochel Leah Aloy in Eretz Yisroel after the engagement of Winnie and Sholom Ber. (3) Winnie with her mother Rochel Leah Aloy in Dokshitz.
(4) Winnie and her mother Rochel Leah. (5) Winnie Aloy Gourarie’s two zaides. With the white beard: Reb Michoel Rivkind, her maternal grandfather, who
turned white overnight at a young age when he was arrested by the communists for having a cheder in Dokshitz. Her paternal zaide, Reb Avrohom Moshe
Aloy, was forced by the Nazis to dig his own grave when he was over 90 years old. (6) Winnie and her father Reb Yirmiyeh Aloy after they first moved to South
Africa. Winnie was five years old (1939). (7) Yirmiyeh and Rochel Leah Aloy (nee Rivkind) at their tena’im.
M
y mother’s family was a
little better off than my
father’s. My maternal
grandfather, Michoel Rivkind, was
a melamed, and he had a cheder
in his home. My mother was the
oldest of three children and she
lost her mother to smallpox when
she was nine. My grandfather never
remarried, and he taught my mother
to run the house at a very young age.
He was a colorful character and an
excellent teacher. He used to say that
if he taught the wall and the wall
didn’t understand, it was his fault!
He was known to be able to “shprech
op ahn ayin hora” – to get rid of the
evil eye. Apparently his technique
worked! One day a man woke him up
at three in the morning, crying that
his horse was sick and he needed an
urgent remedy. He begged him to get
rid of the evil eye for his horse. My
grandfather was so aggravated to be
woken at such a ridiculous hour for
a horse that he told the man that he
couldn’t do it because he didn’t know
the horse’s mother’s name!
Because my father’s family was so
poor, when his mother passed away
he had to leave the cheder where
he learned and help to support
the family. At first he became a
messenger for a bank, and later he
studied and became a bookkeeper. He
learned to read the Torah, and a Rov
in Dokshitz told him that if he came
to him every Shabbos morning he
would test his leining and he would
give him a bun and a glass of milk.
He therefore worked very hard at
this skill and eventually became an
outstanding baal koreh.
Before the war there were five
shuls in Dokshitz. Four of them
were chassidishe shuls and one was a
misnagdishe shul. Of the chassidishe
shuls, one was a “tailors’ shul,” where
all the tailors used to congregate.
Another was a “shoemakers’ shul,”
and other tradesmen had their own
shuls too. The Rov of the chassidishe
community in Dokshitz was Reb Leib
Sheinin Hy”d. It was said that the
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Rebbe Rashab called him a beinoni
of the Tanya. He was a big oved and
davened for hours. Unfortunately,
when the Nazis, yemach shemom,
came to Dokshitz, they collected
all the Jews of the town and herded
them all into the shul where Reb
Leib Sheinin was in the middle of
davening Shacharis. Then
they set the shul on fire. The
people panicked and many
became hysterical. When
Reb Leib realized what was
happening, he made an
announcement: “Yidden, we
are going to be korbonos. But
a korbon with a mum [defect]
is not accepted Above. So we
have to be b’simchah! We have
the zchus to be moser nefesh for
being Yidden, let’s not lose our
heads!” He then began dancing
and singing the niggun of
hakafos. The Nazis became so
angry at this that they killed
him before they burned down
the shul with most of the
Jews in it. (The story is known
because there were some
men hidden in a crawl space
under the shul who survived
and brought the story to
America, where they told it to
several people including Reb
Yochanan Gordon.)
MY FATHER’S LIFE IN YESHIVA
At the age of 14, my father,
Yirmiyahu Aloy, left Dokshitz
and went to Vilna to look for
employment. Although he
was very bright and talented, he
never thought he would have the
opportunity to go to a yeshiva. In
Vilna he met a friend who introduced
him to one of the Ramim—lecturers—
in the Ramailes Yeshiva. When this
man heard my father’s story he
offered to look after all his physical
needs if he joined the yeshiva. My
father grabbed the opportunity and
never looked back. The president of
the Ramailes Yeshiva was the famous
Rabbi Chaim Ozer Grodzinsky. My
father, being an excellent baal koreh,
earned pocket money from reading
He begged him
to get rid of
the evil eye for
his horse. My
grandfather was
so aggravated to
be woken at such
a ridiculous hour
for a horse that he
told the man that
he couldn’t do it
because he didn’t
know the horse’s
mother’s name!
the Torah in Vilna. He also served as
a baal tefillah and a baal tokeah in
one of the local shuls. When Rabbi
Grodzinsky became old and frail,
there was a minyan in his home on
the days that the Torah was read
and my father was the baal koreh.
One time, on Rosh Chodesh, Rabbi
Grodzinsky sent my father to the
amud to daven shacharis and hallel
and then he read from the Torah as
usual. After that Rabbi Grodzinsky
insisted that my father continue
with musaf. After davening, Rabbi
Grodzinsky went up to my father, put
his hand on his shoulder and
said, “Du kenst shein zein a Rov
in America”—you can already be
a Rabbi in America. My father
loved to joke that he had
“semichah” from Rabbi Chaim
Ozer Grodzinsky!
After the Ramailes
Yeshiva, my father went to
the Slonimer Yeshiva. The
Rosh Yeshiva there was Rabbi
Shabsi Yogel. His father-inlaw
was a very wealthy man
who only had daughters, so he
hired a melamed to teach his
daughters Torah. As a result,
Rebbetzin Yogel, who was very
bright, became a lamdanis in
her own right. She could learn
like a man.
My father was often a
guest at the Yogels’ Shabbos
table, together with some
friends. One time one of his
friends complimented the
rebbetzin on the delicious
food. The rebbetzin thanked
him and asked, “Why are you
so surprised? When I put my
head into the pot it must be
good!” I merited to spend three
weeks in the home of Rabbi
and Rebbetzin Yogel in Eretz
Yisroel after I finished school.
After I was married and my husband
and I went to Eretz Yisroel for a trip
I introduced my husband to them.
They were absolutely thrilled with
my choice.
Eventually Rabbi Yogel sent a
group of bachurim to the prestigious
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8
(8) Wedding of Sholom Ber and Winnie Gourarie.
Yeshiva of Mir. My father was one of
them and he was known there as
Reb Yirmiya Dokshitzer. The Mirer
Yeshiva was very strict about seder,
orderliness. When a student arrived
in the Yeshiva he had to have a
special loop sewn on his coat in
order to hang it on a hook assigned
to him. Underneath his coat he had
to put his galoshen (rain boots) tidily.
For untidiness a student would be
fined a certain amount that he had
to donate to the library. I think
that in addition to all the Torah
that my father learned in the Mir—
and my father was a well-known
talmid chacham—he acquired his
organizational skills there. He was
always super organized!
MY PARENTS GET MARRIED
In the year 1931, at the age of 21,
my father became engaged to my
mother, Rochel Leah Rivkind, his
neighbor from Dokshitz who was
two years older. My father came
home from the Mir but there was a
problem. My grandfather Michoel did
not allow them to get married until
my father got smichah. However, my
father was too shy to go back to the
Mir as a chassan at such a young age
to continue learning there. At that
time in Mir there were bachurim of
35 and 40 who were still learning and
not thinking of marriage and here
he was, extremely young and already
engaged. The mashgiach of the Mir,
however, sent him a postcard asking
him to come back to the yeshiva to
learn and not to be embarrassed. But
because of problems with the army
which prevented him from returning
to the Mir, he went to study at the
Lomze Yeshiva, where he eventually
got smichah and received kabbalah to
be a shochet.
In the year 5694 (1933), my parents
got married in the courtyard of
the shul, on a freezing cold Friday
afternoon. They moved into my
grandfather Michoel’s house in
Dokshitz. Their best friends were
the Gordon family: Reb Yochanan
Gordon, his wife Zisha and their
children. My father’s best friend was
Reb Nison Gordon, the oldest of Reb
Yochanan’s children. They remained
best friends for the rest of their lives.
My father used to tell us about
Reb Yisroel Gordon, Reb Yochanan’s
father. He was the shochet in Dokshitz
and was also an expert baal koreh. He
taught many people in Dokshitz to
lein but he himself only sometimes
leined on a Monday or a Thursday, but
never a whole parshah on a Shabbos
or a Yom Tov. People asked him why
and he answered with typical Gordon
wit, “Because I can’t lein very well. I
didn’t learn by Yisroel the shochet!”
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9 10
(9) Esther Sternberg and her father Zalman Gourarie; Sholom Ber
and Winnie Gourarie. (10) Tena’im of Sholom Ber and Winnie Gourarie
in the home of Tema and Nosson Gourarie in Crown Heights. Notice
the candles, bent over from the heat. Standing L-R: Shirley Levitin,
Rita Golshmid, Esther Wineberg, Chava Gourarie, Esther Sternberg
(12 years old), Zelda Raskind, Batsheva Rosen, Tema Gourarie, and
Tema Althaus. Seated, L-R: Kaila Rothstein, Rebbetzin Mindel Katz or
Rebbetzin Gittel Mentlick, Winnie, Rochel Leah Aloy, Zisha Gordon,
Bunya Haskind. (11) Wedding invitation of Yirmiyahu and Rochel Leah
Aloy (1933).
11
The friendship between my family
and the Gordon-Goldman family
continues until this day.
My father saw the Frierdiker
Rebbe five times. As a bachur he
once helped out at the secretariat of
Lubavitch in a town called Gleboka.
There he met the Rebbe, who was
then known as the Ramash, for the
first time. The Rebbe asked him
where he was learning and he said
that he was learning in the Mir. The
mashgiach in the Mir at the time was
Reb Yerucham. The Rebbe asked my
father to say over a mussar vort from
Reb Yerucham, which he did.
Although my father always learned
in Litvishe yeshivas and was exposed
to the Litvishe way of learning, he
was a fully committed chossid and
never did a thing without first
consulting the Frierdiker Rebbe and
then later the Rebbe for their consent
and blessing.
I was born on
the 9 th Kislev
5694 (November
16, 1934) and was named Vichna after
my maternal grandmother.
In the winter of 5695, at the
instruction of the Frierdiker Rebbe,
a Lubavitcher Yeshiva was opened in
the town of Gleboka and my father
was appointed the Rosh Yeshiva.
Unfortunately, the Yeshiva ran into
financial difficulties and had to close
after a year. Again with the blessing
and consent of the Frierdiker Rebbe
my father was appointed the shochet
in the town of Druye. This was
considered an important position
and at this time he also received
kabbalah from the mohel of Vilna
to be a mohel. He circumcised many
babies but sometimes after a bris if
he heard the baby crying from the
other side of the town he couldn’t
sleep at night! (The town of Dokshitz
was very small and the houses were
close to each other, so one could hear
other people’s babies crying at night.)
SETTLING IN SOUTH AFRICA
In 1937, people were beginning to
realize that Eastern Europe was no
longer safe. My mother’s brother
and sister were both in South Africa
so my father decided to go to South
Africa. Rabbi Chaim Ozer Grodzinsky,
whose brother-in-law was the senior
Rabbi in Johannesburg, managed to
get him the necessary documents
and to pay for his trip. He became a
meshulach for a Yeshiva in Brisk. He
was not exactly cut out for the job
because he managed to raise only
enough money to pay for his trip but
no more! He arrived in South Africa
in 1937, leaving my mother and me
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ehind. The plan was that he would
work and collect enough money to
send us tickets to follow him. His first
job was at a shul in a small town close
to Johannesburg, called Boksburg. At
that time, Yiddishkeit in South Africa
was such that on Rosh Hashanah
when a man was called to the Torah
and got an aliyah, he gave a donation
to the shul; the amount that was
pledged was written down, then and
there! My father was so astounded
that after Yom Tov he wrote a letter
to his father saying that for the first
time in his life he had witnessed
“B’Rosh Hashanah tikoseivun!”
He did not stay in Boksburg for
long. His next job was also in a small
town called Benoni (reportedly given
this Hebrew name, which means “son
of my affliction,” by the surveyor,
who endured much distress trying
to establish the boundaries of this
town). Here there was a warm,
heimishe community and my father
Mrs. Winnie Gourarie during her interview
with the N’shei Chabad Newsletter.
made life-long friends there. I am
still friendly with some of their
descendants to this day.
It took two long years until my
father was able to bring us out to
join him in South Africa, and it
was only in August 1939, two weeks
before World War II broke out, that
my mother, my grandfather and I
landed in Cape Town from the very
last boat to enter the country. The
boat, named the Warwick Castle, was
sunk by the Germans on its way back
to London.
We made our home in
Johannesburg. I was already four and
a half years old so my parents went to
register me at a nearby kindergarten.
When the teacher asked for my name
and was told that my name was
Vichna she burst out laughing. “You
can’t call her that in South Africa!
Everyone will laugh. Let’s call her
Winnie,” she told my mother. So
Winnie it remained, and although
my parents never gave
up on “Vichnale,” I got
used to Winnie and
rather liked it.
A SISTER IS BORN
We settled in
Johannesburg and
I was very happy in
kindergarten. When I
was five and a half years
old my sister Batya was
born on a Shabbos in
1940. The maternity
hospitals in those days
were very strict about
visiting hours, but my
father being a member
of the clergy could enter
at any time. Still, that
Shabbos the nurses
refused to allow him
to see my mother and
he didn’t even know
whether she had given birth to a
girl or a boy. At the hospital that day
there were four other women who
had given birth and they all had boys.
When my father begged the nurses to
tell him whether his wife had given
birth to a girl or a boy, they told him
that his wife had given birth to a boy.
The excitement was great! He
ran straight back to shul and told
everyone the good news. He arranged
a shalom zachar and even a bris for
the following Shabbos, and straight
after Shabbos he went with a bunch
of flowers to visit my mother during
visiting hours. She heard him
speaking to the nurses and presumed
that they told him that his newborn
baby was a girl. She decided to fool
him and tell him that the nurses
made a mistake and that he really
has a son! When she told him this,
he replied that he already knew
that he had a son. After a while she
realized that he was serious, so she
told him the truth! Can you imagine—
he now had to face all his friends
and acquaintances, cancel the bris
and tell me that I now had a sister
and not a brother. I believe I did not
accept this so easily and I had to be
persuaded that a sister is just fine.
My father, with his wonderful
sense of humor, told this story at
my sister’s wedding, emphasizing
the fact that he was so happy he had
two daughters because at that time,
without a Jewish school or a Yeshiva
in South Africa, and travel being out
of the question, he and my mother
could never have raised a son of the
calibre of his two illustrious sons-inlaw.
My brother-in-law, Rabbi Moshe
Kurtstag, is the Rosh Beis Din of the
whole of the united community
of South Africa, and my husband,
although he was a businessman,
was a talmid chacham of note and a
devoted chossid of the Rebbe.
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My elementary school was called
“Jewish government.” The only thing
Jewish about it was that it was
closed on all Jewish holidays. Then
I attended Athlone High School, a
public school where the student body
was 95% Jewish. For limudei kodesh
we all attended an afternoon cheder.
I had a very happy childhood. I used
to ride my bicycle to school and to
cheder and I had lots of friends.
A VISIT TO THE FRIERDIKER REBBE
In 1948, when I was 14 years old, my
father heard that his half-sister Bat
Sheva Rosen had had a heart attack.
He had never met her, so he decided
to fly to America to be with her and
at the same time see the Frierdiker
Rebbe, whom he had not seen since
leaving Eastern Europe. Bat Sheva
recovered well and my father was
able to reconnect with his dear friend
Reb Yochanan Gordon and his family.
Reb Yochanan was already the gabbai
at 770, a position he held for many
years. It was Shavuos time and the
Rebbe had a minyan outside his room
as he was unable to go downstairs.
Reb Yochanan arranged for my father,
who was an expert baal koreh, to lein
at the Rebbe’s minyan. Afterwards the
Rebbe told Reb Yochanan that he
recognized the voice and knew who
had leined, even though he hadn’t
seen him for all those years.
At that time it was very difficult
to understand the Rebbe’s speech.
Whoever went in for yechidus had
to go in with the Rebbe’s secretary
who was able to understand what
the Rebbe was saying. My father
refused to have the secretary go in
with him. He maintained that he
would understand every word the
Rebbe would say and he did. It was
at this time that there were elections
in South Africa and the Nationalists—
the Afrikaner party—won the
elections. Everyone thought that this
would be disastrous for the Jews and
they anticipated another Holocaust.
During yechidus my father asked the
Rebbe whether he should perhaps
bring his family to America. With a
big smile on his face the Frierdiker
Rebbe told my father, “Fort aheim”—go
back home! This was the beginning of
the apartheid era and although the
blacks in South Africa were treated
most unfairly, the Jews were not
negatively affected.
In my teenage years I joined the
Bnei Akiva movement, which in
those days was called Hashomer
Hadati and was the only frum youth
movement. I spent many happy years
in the movement. I enjoyed camp
every year and eventually became
one of the leaders of Bnei Akiva.
THE HISTALKUS
During that time Rabbi Yosef
Wineberg was a frequent guest
in my parents’ home. He came to
Johannesburg for a period of two
to three months every two years. In
1950, when I was 16, I came home
from school one day and found our
whole house in mourning. Rabbi
Wineberg and my father were
walking around in socks, crying, and
my mother was beside herself. They
had just received a telegram that
the Frierdiker Rebbe was nistalek. I
only heard after I was married that
my brother-in-law, Rabbi Nosson
Gourarie from Montreal, Rabbi Yoel
Kahn, Mrs. Rivka Chitrik, and one or
two others had boarded a boat from
Eretz Yisroel to America to see the
Rebbe and they knew nothing about
the histalkus until they arrived in
New York. Apparently, my husband’s
brother-in-law, Rabbi Tzvi Brodie,
saw the news in the Israeli press
before they left, but he didn’t want
to stop them from going, so he told
no-one, not even my parents-in-law.
Rabbi Wineberg remained in South
Africa till after shloshim and on the
Shabbos of shloshim he took a lot of
mashke and farbrenged the whole day.
My father helped Rabbi Wineberg
a great deal, as he did for every
meshulach, no matter for what cause
they came to South Africa. My father
collected all the pledges and did all
the bookkeeping. Very few people
donated to any cause unless my
father sanctioned it. The Lubavitcher
Yeshivas offered my father a ticket to
the Rebbe for all his hard work, but
he refused to accept. He said he didn’t
want to sell his mitzvah!
After I completed high school I
attended the “Machon Lemadrichei
Chutz La-aretz” in Eretz Yisroel—a
leadership course for members of all
the youth movements. Prior to my
leaving for Eretz Yisroel, Rabbi Yisroel
Hazdan arrived in South Africa with
his first wife. He had connections
with the Rebbeim in Eastern Europe,
but his main connection was with
the Frierdiker Rebbe in Latvia. He
was offered a position in Sweden in
about 1932 and he accepted. When
the Frierdiker Rebbe passed through
Sweden on the way to America,
Rabbi Hazdan was the shochet for
the Rebbe in Sweden. When Rabbi
Hazdan’s wife became very ill, they
were advised to relocate to a warmer
climate and they chose South Africa.
Before they arrived, the Frierdiker
Rebbe wrote a letter to the senior
Rabbi of South Africa, Rabbi Yitzchok
Kossowsky, and asked him if he would
please introduce Rabbi Hazdan to my
father because my father was a “mufla
b’ahavas Yisroel” – a “specialist” in
ahavas Yisroel, and he would take
care of him. My father and Rabbi
Hazdan became firm friends from
the day he arrived until they passed
away. Rabbi Hazdan’s wife passed
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away soon after they arrived in South
Africa and my father was mesader
kiddushin at his second marriage to
a charming and wonderful lady, Ella,
with whom we all became close.
After I returned from Eretz Yisroel
I attended the Hebrew Teachers’
Seminary here in Johannesburg
and then went to teach in a town
called Bloemfontein in the Orange
Free State for a year. I also taught the
Jewish boarders at Eunice Girls High
School, some of whom I still see today
in Johannesburg.
While I was teaching in
Bloemfontein I turned 19. My
birthday that year coincided with
the birthday of Winston Churchill.
The South African papers were filled
with the headlines, “Happy Birthday
Winnie!” My father, who was the
busiest man in Johannesburg but
always had all the time in the world
for his children and grandchildren,
bought lots of newspapers, cut out
these headlines, pasted them all over
a big brown envelope and sent me a
letter and a gift in this envelope.
When I finished my year in
Bloemfontein my parents decided
that it was time I looked for a shidduch.
There was no-one for me in South
Africa so off I went to America with my
mother, who suffered from scoliosis
and thought that she would see a
doctor in America at the same time.
A TRIP TO AMERICA
In 1955 my mother and I traveled
to America by boat. We spent a week
in London and then took the Queen
Elizabeth to New York. I was so seasick
that I couldn’t enjoy the luxury of
that beautiful ship. Rabbi Wineberg
arranged accommodations for us
with a Rabbi and Mrs. Klein. I do not
recall either of their first names, but
Rabbi Klein was so tall that he was
known as “der heicher Klein.”
Soon after we arrived we had
yechidus with the Rebbe. My mother
and I went in separately. I weighed 92
pounds at the time and I wore a black
suit that made me look even thinner
than I was. I was told afterwards that
the Rebbe asked Rabbi Wineberg if
I was healthy! The Rebbe asked me
to sit several times, but of course I
didn’t. Before I left South Africa I was
given strict instructions on how to
behave. Then the Rebbe asked me,
“Vi gefelt eich America?”—How do
you like America? I thought I must
be truthful, so I said, “Es gefelt mir
in gantzen nit”—I don’t like it at all!
I think the Rebbe was amused. I
went on to ask a few questions of
a personal nature and the yechidus
was over.
Seeing that we arrived close to
Pesach, my father arranged that we
spend Pesach with his dear friend
Reb Yochanan Gordon and his
family. There I met my best friend
Esther Goldman, the Gordons’ only
daughter. Although she was several
years older than me and was already
married with two children, we hit it
off immediately. We were two of a
kind! She was already corresponding
on her father’s behalf with my
father and had sent him pictures of
her handsome chassan and of the
whole family at their wedding. She
wrote beautifully. She had attended
my Zeide’s cheder in Dokshitz and
years later, during a visit to South
Africa, she recognized him on the
photograph in my lounge.
When my mother and I came to
New York, the Goldmans’ oldest son
Yossy (now Rabbi Yossy Goldman,
who is the Rabbi of the largest shul
in Johannesburg) was five years old.
He used to sit me down and say,
“Winnie, talk!” He loved to listen to
my South African accent. Esther and
I corresponded for many years and
I still have some of her letters. Our
friendship with the Goldmans was
warm and everlasting. When their
children, Yossy and Rochel, arrived in
South Africa as shluchim we kind of
adopted them. We participated in all
of their simchos and supported them
whenever possible. In New York,
Esther and Reb Shimon provided
a home away from home for our
children when they came to Yeshiva
and school so far away from home,
at a time when telephone calls were
very few and far between. They only
came home once a year. My children
never had to call the Goldmans if
they wanted a meal or just wanted
to talk. They would just come by and
relax, feeling very much at home.
In the meantime, Rabbi Wineberg
lost no time in getting to work. I had
never seen a bachur with a beard in
my life. To me a beard belonged on
a mature Rabbi or an old man, so
Rabbi Wineberg introduced me to
quite a few boys without beards (in
Lubavitch at the time there were
many bachurim without beards). It
didn’t work. I suppose that if I was
destined to marry a chossid it had
to be the authentic kind. So one
day Rabbi Wineberg asked me, “How
would you like to meet a bachur with
a beard?” I thought this would be very
interesting, and the rest is history.
My future husband, Sholom
Ber Gourarie, called me himself,
introduced himself and said he would
like to meet me. We spoke Ivrit and
we spent a pleasant hour. But my
husband had many doubts. Although
he was interested, he felt he had to
consult the Rebbe. What a privilege
it was way back then when the Rebbe
was there beguf and we could discuss
anything and have complete clarity.
My husband told the Rebbe that
this girl that he met comes from
South Africa and went to a public
28 NSHEICHABADNEWSLETTER.COM | NISSAN 2018

co-educational school, her father
doesn’t have a beard and she seems
very far from the upbringing that he
was used to—how can this work?
What the Rebbe answered him
remains a blueprint for my life
from the day I got married. The
Rebbe told him, “Nit nor vellen
di inyonim fun Chabad ba ir zich
opleigen nor di inyonim fun Shpitz
Chabad.”—”Not only will the ideals
and principles of Chabad be a given
with her, but even the ideals of [those
who have been part of Chabad for
many generations].” And when my
husband asked about the family, the
Rebbe said, “Zei zeinen yirei Shomayim
beteva.” – “They are G-d-fearing by
nature.” I am forever still trying to
live up to this incredible compliment
that the Rebbe gave me.
We got engaged on the 15 th of Av
1955 and we had a tena’im catered
by Mermelstein caterers in Rabbi
Nosson and Mrs. Tema Gourarie’s
home. They went out of their way to
make it very beautiful. My mother
insisted on china dishes and cloth
serviettes. Who ever heard of paper
plates and paper napkins in South
Africa in those days?
It was summer and the heat was
unbearable. There was a beautiful
candelabra with candles on the
table, but we couldn’t light them. The
candles drooped and melted. There
was no air conditioning in private
homes at the time. When my chassan
and I went for a walk we had to go
into a bank to cool off. Most people
were in the country at the time and
my good friend Esther Goldman was
not at our tena’im. The Goldmans
were at the same bungalow colony
as Rabbi Nosson and Tema Gourarie.
Being that Tema was a relative, she
had to come to the tena’im and Esther
was left to look after Tema’s children
and her own! She was quite upset
that she wasn’t there and so was I.
When my mother and I arrived
in America we were also privileged
to visit the Rebbetzin Nechama
Dina, wife of the Frierdiker Rebbe.
It was a wonderful experience, but
whatever we wanted to say we had
to write on a pad of paper that was
prepared on the table because the
Rebbetzin couldn’t hear. In 1955 every
kallah still got a diamond ring at the
time of the engagement. In Crown
Heights the setting of every single
ring was exactly the same, but every
kallah would go into the Rebbetzin
Nechama Dina to show her the ring. I
didn’t like the setting at all but I went
in anyway and showed her my ring.
My ring has been reset since then.
A SHEITEL AND A STORY
After the engagement my mother
and I decided to fly home through
Eretz Yisroel to meet my future
in-laws, Rabbi Moshe and Mrs. Zlata
Baila Gourarie. The Rebbe actually
indicated that my mother should go
home and I should remain in New
York. I didn’t listen. I didn’t want
my mother to travel by herself and
as a result my chassan and I were
separated for a whole year during
the time of our engagement because
my husband had great difficulty in
obtaining a permanent visa for
America. The Israelis refused to grant
him a deferment from the army.
Only after a whole year, through my
father’s friendship with members
of the South African government,
was he able to receive permanent
residence in South Africa and only
then were we able to get married.
Before my mother and I left New
York for Eretz Yisroel, the Rebbe
told my chassan to send my mother
flowers before we leave. I suppose it
was a kind of tzeischem leshalom—a
farewell gesture.
In Eretz Yisroel I met and bonded
with my very special parents-inlaw
and the rest of the extended
Gourarie family. To this day I am
very friendly with the Eichenshteins,
the Chaskinds and the Butmans—all
Gourarie girls. They are all so warm
and loving. We keep in touch and
speak often. The same applies to
Esther Sternberg and her family. I
was privileged to host both Esther
and her daughter Rivka Slonim
when they came to South Africa on
speaking engagements. They are
warm, wonderful people and we have
remained very close.
My mother-in-law decided that
since I was the first young girl to
wear a sheitel in South Africa (except
for the German Jewish community
who all wore sheitels, but locally
made ones that weren’t exactly
glamorous), she was going to buy
me the best sheitel available in Eretz
Yisroel. And the best sheitel it was—
beautiful human hair with blond
highlights, just like my hair, and it
cost her $1,000 dollars in 1955! When
I put it on after my wedding no one
could believe that I was wearing a
sheitel. Unfortunately, its success
was short-lived. My hairdresser told
me that at their salon they heard
that I was going to put on a sheitel
so if ever I wanted it washed and set
I should bring it to them. After two
months of marriage, my friend was
getting married and I decided to have
my sheitel washed and set. I gave it to
my hairdresser, but no one was aware
that in those days one could not put
a human hair sheitel into water.
The base would shrink. I ended up
with a thousand-dollar yarmulka! I
had to go to the wedding wearing a
scarf! I have not worn a human hair
sheitel since. I’m quite happy with my
acrylic sheitels.
NISSAN 2018 | NSHEICHABADNEWSLETTER.COM 29

SHABBOS IN THE AIRPORT
On the way back from Eretz Yisroel
to Johannesburg, we boarded a Pan
American flight and stopped to refuel
in Nairobi. It was almost Friday and
we were somewhat delayed. We called
the Rabbi in Nairobi to ask whether we
could spend Shabbos with him and his
family as we were
afraid that we
wouldn’t arrive
in Johannesburg
in time for
Shabbos. He told
us that it wasn’t
convenient and
that he thought
we should
continue on our
flight and we
would definitely
make it in time
for Shabbos
(clearly not a
Chabad rabbi).
We did arrive
about three
quarters of an
hour before
Shabbos, but I
didn’t realize
that while on the
plane I needed to
fill in two forms
for customs and
immigration—
one for my
mother and one
for me. I had only
filled in one form
for both of us. I
told my mother
to take the form
and rush out to
my uncle and
aunt who were
waiting to drive
us home. My sister Bessie (now Batya
Kurtstag) offered to stay behind with
me. By the time I was able to fill in a
second form and sign it, it was already
Shabbos. I refused to sign the form, so
they took my passport away and my
sister and I settled down to catch up
on all the news. The airport officials
were very accommodating. They gave
us the “crash room” where we were
able to sleep, and they told us that we
could help ourselves to anything we
liked from the cafeteria. Of course we
couldn’t eat anything, but luckily my
aunt had brought food with her in case
we were stuck and given it to Bessie, so
we didn’t go hungry.
Shabbos morning there was great
excitement. Apparently my father, on
his way to shul, saw large placards on
the streets: “Girl Won’t Leave Jan Smuts
Airport!” The reporters didn’t leave us
alone. They took pictures, asked many
questions and created a great sensation.
I was the center of a huge controversy.
Some people thought that I did the right
thing; others felt that I was a hysterical
girl. A Catholic newspaper printed
an article praising the fact that I spent
24 hours sitting at the airport because
of my religion and they can’t even get
their congregants to come for two hours
on a Sunday!
The correspondence
continued
back and forth
in many newspapers
for
over a week—
the press in
Johannesburg,
Cape Town,
other places in
South Africa,
Australia,
America, Eretz
Yisroel and
even the news
on the ships.
I became big
news with
reporters
phoning me
at home to
ask what my
fiancé had
to say about
my behavior
throughout
this whole
episode. My
chassan sent
all the cuttings
into the
Rebbe’s office.
In retrospect
it seems to
me absurd
that such a
small incident
should cause such a sensation. Maybe
the newspapers had nothing else to
write about in 1955...•
Stay tuned! We’re only up to 1955. Part II
of Mrs. Winnie Gourarie’s memoirs, from
1955 to the present, will iy”H appear in the
Tammuz issue.